


take my hand, take my whole life too

by finnsmoose



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon, slight reference to corporal punishment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 20:01:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11698911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finnsmoose/pseuds/finnsmoose
Summary: Peter and George learn how to love through the years.





	take my hand, take my whole life too

They’re six years old when they first meet. George’s family move into Nancy Connor’s old house down the road, and Peter’s mother takes him to visit.

He’s not happy about this, because his brother is allowed to stay with their father and help on the boat. He brings this up as they make their way over, Peter holding a container with freshly baked goods in it, and she gives him a clip behind the ear. He’s not too excited about the idea of meeting new people, but then he sees a little boy running around outside the house and the thought that he might make a friend excites him just that little bit.

The boy runs over to his own mother to alert her of the two strangers, and when they reappear Peter’s mother pushes him over to hand over the box. The boy takes two cookies out before his mother brings it inside, already talking to Peter’s mother about the new neighbourhood. This leaves Peter with the boy, with the two staring each other down.

“I’m Peter,” he says, breaking the silence.

“George!” the boy says, smiling up at him. Peter doesn’t think he’s seen someone smile so brightly –standing opposite him he can see that George is missing two teeth. “Do you want to play football with me?”

They spend the rest of the day playing with each other, and he has to be dragged him by his mother when it’s time for supper. George is just as upset, but they meet up the next day to continue with their games. And the day after that.

They rarely leave each other’s sides after that.

 

 

 

 

 

They’re thirteen when Peter is hit with the sudden realisation that he likes George more than he knows he should.

He’s laying down in their spot at the pier by the sea, looking out at the waves crashing against each other. Once they were old enough to play on the streets, they picked this place as their own. It was exciting to watch the sea, knowing that one day they’ll be old enough to go out their one day on their own. They’ve learned a lot about boating from Peter’s father, and they’re already planning on a trip of their own one day.

George is late to meeting him, which isn’t actually all that new. He had gotten into trouble in school earlier on that day, and is finally away from it all with a couple of bruises to show for it.

“Old Smelly Smyth has it in for me!” George sighs, as he dramatically flings himself down onto Peter.

Peter tries to push him off, but he can’t breathe under the weight of his best friend. He tries to pretend to be annoyed, but his laughter gives it away before George can even begin to feel sorry.

“You’re so heavy!” Peter groans, squirming under George’s body. He finally manages to push George off him, and catches his breath. When he turns his face, he sees George laughing away to himself. He moves closer to Peter, leaning heavily against his chest, and Peter can feel his heart surge and swell with a heady fondness that almost makes him nauseous.

The realisation hits him as briskly as the waves across from them. His heart starts to beat so quickly and he’s not sure why, but all he can register in the fog in his mind is _George_. He wants to reach his hand out and hold him again, press him even closer than he already is. George looks beautiful like this, laying so close to him and looking so peaceful.  

He doesn’t understand where it comes from, or what this even means for him. George is his _very_ male best friend, and he’s the most important person in Peter’s life – always has been, always will be.

So instead of listening to his crazy thoughts, he nudges George away from him and sits up. “Maybe the reason Mr. Smyth doesn’t like you is because you never do his work.”

“What’s the point in wasting my time reading Shakespeare when there’s a life to live?” George asks, beaming up at him. “There’s mountains to climb, people to meet, and oceans to venture.”

“You’re crazy,” he says, with a roll of his eyes. He gets it though. He’s always believed that George had so much potential wasted in this town. The thought of George being in any other town than this one isn’t something that Peter likes to think of though. Because it seems like George is one of the proper good things in his life. Not that he doesn’t appreciate his family, it’s just that he knows he’ll always be second best to his older brother. There’s not much to be done about that at this point he reckons, but he can keep George by his side for as long as possible.

“I don’t like seeing you get hurt,” Peter admits, looking at the nasty looking cut on George’s wrist. The teachers in their school are ruthless when they want to be, and George is normally at the other end of this.

George sits up, inches apart from Peter, and nudges his side. “You know I’ll be okay. I always am.”

(And it’s true, George always manages to come out of things completely unscathed. He had watched George fall off a tree when they were nine, and just as Peter was sure he was about to scream in agony or collapse from the sheer pain, he started to laugh. “I thought you were going to catch me!” he exclaimed, and Peter had shouted at George for how stupid his idea had been. But that’s all he seems to be doing nowadays.)

George stands up, stretching his limbs out before turning to Peter with a devilish smile. Peter would almost panic about how good George looks again, but he knows that look. “Last one to your house is the loser!”

He runs after George breathless, but smiling nonetheless. He doesn’t exactly understand what his mind is doing at the moment, but it’s okay. George is still George, and just because he thinks George is one of the prettiest people he’s seen instead of the girls the same age is them is a little scary, that doesn’t mean he has to deal with it yet.

He runs, the freedom of letting his thoughts slip away feels almost as sweet as George placing his hand over his back in commiseration for losing.

 

 

 

 

 

They’re sixteen when they taste alcohol for the first time. They’re older but only slightly wiser, and Peter can’t keep his eyes off George as he sits on the other end of the bed.

“You need to be quiet!” George says, passing the bottle to him. He doesn’t want to think about what will happen if his parents find them with the bottle of gin in his hands, but thankfully they won’t have to find out.

“No one else is home,” he tells George, who nearly lights up at this. “Do you think I would have taken this if my father was home?”

He takes a large swig of the drink, letting it sting the back of his throat, and hands it back to George who’s just as pleasantly drunk as he is. The moonlight is creeping in on them, and Peter thinks it’s a good look on George. He moves in closer, wanting to be closer to George. Just like always, although now he doesn’t have a voice inside his head telling him how much of a bad idea it is.

“You’re my best friend,” he says, laying his head on George’s shoulder.

“Your only friend, don’t you mean?” George says jokingly, and he digs his elbow into George’s side. “You’re mine too, you know. You’ll always be my best friend.”

Peter grins at the words, smiling down at his hands. He finds the courage to look up at George, who’s watching him intently. He’s not sure what’s happening, but his breathing slows and suddenly it’s not just the alcohol that’s making the room spin. He can feel George’s breath on his skin, and they’re so close. He leans in, the alcohol not making him think clearly, and his lips touch George’s.

Peter expects George to break away, to hastily wipe the kiss from his lips and his memory. He doesn’t expect, doesn’t dare to dream, for George to be enjoying it just as much. He kisses back, timidly at first. His lips are soft and warm against Peter’s, and the smell of him is so much stronger for being so close. George’s hand inches up to his neck, holding Peter close to him.

As quickly as they inch apart, Peter’s lips are back on George’s. And its pure bliss, every part of his body that George’s hands come into contact with feels like it’s on fire. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of kissing George. It’s already so addicting. The best part is that he can feel George’s smile as they kiss, he can feel every ounce of affection in the way that George holds him, the way their lips meet in small crashes like lapping waves. All he can think is, why haven’t they done this sooner?

On another night, things might have gone further. But they’re too drunk, and they’re tired. George lays his head down, wrapping an arm around Peter’s body before falling fast asleep.

Peter places his finger over his lips, still in complete shock that he’s kissed George. He’s too afraid to fall asleep, afraid that once he wakes he’ll realise it had just been a dream.

But he wakes to George still holding him, smiling when he wakes. They part with a shy smile, and just before George leaves so his parents don’t know anything about the night before, he presses a kiss to Peter’s forehead.

Peter falls back onto his bed, wondering if his whole life has been building up to this moment.

 

 

 

 

 

They’re sixteen when Peter loses his brother.

He remembers the funeral, the dark gloomy sky above him as his neighbours pass on their condolences. George stays by his side the whole time, unable to hold his hand like they both feel the need to. It’s only a little after they start dating, but George knows exactly what Peter needs.

(George doesn’t tell him that he’s sorry for his loss, just holds him as he cries. He doesn’t want sympathy, he wants his brother back. But the world is cruel and the war is harsh, and he’s not going to get to see his brother ever again.)

Peter has never felt worse, but he has George to help him through it. He’s there when he needs to get away from the silence at home, when he needs to feel like a teenage boy again, and when he just needs to talk about his brother.

“I need to keep his legacy alive, I need to make my parents proud,” Peter says, his feet dangling above the water.

“Don’t say that,” George frowns, his hand placed over Peter’s. “They’re proud of you, how could they not be? You’re a good man Peter, the best I’ve ever known. You’re not your brother, and you never will be. But you’re _you_. You’re Peter Dawson, and that’s enough.”

For once, Peter can see the truth to these words. It doesn’t make the hurt go away, but it’s a start.

 

 

 

 

 

They’re seventeen when they go to Dunkirk.

 

 

 

 

 

Peter’s seventeen when he loses his greatest love.

Peter and his father didn’t back down from getting their own chance to help in the war, and George followed. Of course he did. He’s always been too brave, too adventurous, too good for his good. He never thought to tell George to stay behind, he had been too caught up in the job at hand.

In the end, he’s the reason why George gets hurt. He had locked the door, and for what? He wasn’t sure there was a point to it. His father would have gotten around to the terrified man, wouldn’t he?

He’ll never forget the noises that came out of George as he laid on the floor. He fought the urge to hold him, knowing full well either the soldier or his father could walk in. He helped as much as he could, but he didn’t know what to do. There was so much blood, and George was so pale and he could barely think straight. George could no longer see, he couldn’t get up and help with the longing for adventure he’s always had. He kept talking, and Peter couldn’t help but think everything sounded so _final_ , like George knew the end was coming.

He would have stayed with him if _he_ knew.

He would have laid beside George, letting him know he wasn’t alone. He hates knowing that George died on his own. Scared and lonely – it was a horrible way to go.

He’s standing on the dock, watching as George is lifted off the boat. He almost gets sick, can feel the bile at the back of his throat. But then he feels the presence of someone by his side. He expects to see his father, but instead he sees the pilot from the boat.

“You did all you could,” he says, and Peter wants to say that he’s wrong, that there’s so much more he could have done. He wouldn’t have locked the soldier away, wouldn’t have even let George near the damn boat in the first place. Instead, he thanks the pilot for everything he had done, and the two part ways.

His father is waiting for him at the end of the dock, and he places an arm on his back. It’s enough to finally get him to cry. He cries for everything he’s lost – his best friend, his lover. Meeting George had been one of the best things that had happened to him, and now he needs to relearn how to live without him.

His grief hits him like a tsunami, and it threatens to take him down with it.

It takes over him, and swallows him into a complete darkness. He wants to float back to the surface, but he can’t get there. He feels stuck in this endless cycle of despair. He wonders how much of this water can drown him, but he can’t let it.

He **won’t** let it.

The next day, he makes his way to the local paper and gives them their school photo. He tells them about how brave George had been, and he’s finally seen as the hero Peter knows he is. It’s not going to bring George back, but it’s a start and it helps the sun start to shine through. He’ll never forget seeing George’s parents’ reaction to the paper, or even his father’s.

He feels like he’s found an anchor to start to help him stay afloat.

And Peter refuses to sink.


End file.
